


A Suit Kind of Guy

by infiniteeight



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Insecure Clint, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-20
Updated: 2012-08-20
Packaged: 2017-11-12 13:30:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/491580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/infiniteeight/pseuds/infiniteeight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the prompt: Sweet. “Stop making that face. You look like an idiot.” / “You think I’m cute.” It didn't come out sweet, exactly, although the end sort of is?</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Suit Kind of Guy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Perpetual Motion (perpetfic)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/perpetfic/gifts).



Clint looked into the mirror, studying his reflection. He wore a crisp, tailored dress shirt, neatly buttoned down at the collar. The steel grey suit sat perfectly on his shoulders. The tie snugly settled into the opening of the collar picked up his eyes. The ensemble was expensive, in perfect taste, and carefully chosen for Clint's upcoming undercover assignment. Clint made a face, looking for himself in the reflection.

“Stop making that face. You look like an idiot," Coulson said, stepping up behind him and reviewing Clint's outfit with a sweep of his eyes over the full length mirror.

Clint smirked. “You think I’m cute," he tossed over his shoulder, adjusting his tie.

Coulson snorted. "In that suit, you can do a lot better than cute."

It was all Clint could do to keep the plummeting of his stomach off his face. Of course Coulson wanted the sort of man who'd wear a suit like this. A refined man, with high class tastes. An educated, successful man with a witty sense of humor and a fucking wine collection. Not a guttersnipe with just one skill to trade on and a taste for puns and X rated jokes. Clint wanted to tear the suit off, throw it out them window after his stupid hopes, but he had a job to do.

"Clint?" Coulson met his gaze in the mirror, frowning. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Clint swallowed a sigh and schooled his expression into a slight smile. He wasn't good at bland, but vaguely amused usually did okay. "Let's get this show on the road."

"No, something's definitely wrong." Coulson put a hand on Clint's shoulder and turned him around. "Talk to me."

"I'm just being stupid." Clint bounced on the balls of his feet. "Come on, I'm good to go."

Coulson just watched him. It was all Clint could do to hand onto the vaguely amused mask. "No," Coulson said. Of course he could see right through Clint; he always could. "We've got a few minutes to sort this out. Is this about the suit?"

Sometimes Clint really wished Coulson wasn't so smart. Or didn't know him so well. "I'm just not a suit kind of guy," Clint muttered. 

"No, you're not," Coulson agreed. Clint couldn't meet his eyes; he looked over Coulson's shoulder instead. "Which is half the reason I like putting you in them so much," Coulson went on. Clint couldn't help glancing at him then, but Coulson was looking down now, at his hands, which he'd brought down to finger the lapels of Clint's suit. "I like wrapping you in tailored fabric, covering up everything that makes you dangerous with mild discomfort, and sending you out like a wolf among the sheep." He looked up and met Clint's gaze, smiling. "They'll never know what hit them. But I will."

Clint swallowed, but his voice was still rough when he spoke. "All that's kind of your specialty, sir." He paused, licked his lips. "You want to get in some range time when we get back? I'd like to put a bow in your hands."

Coulson smoothed the lapels of the suit jacket flat against Clint's chest. "It's a date."


End file.
